


Futile

by WroughtBetwixt



Series: JohnWard Prompts [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Implied Sexual Content, In Public, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Public Display of Affection, Shooting Guns, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 17:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2356694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WroughtBetwixt/pseuds/WroughtBetwixt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The firing range was always where Ward felt calmest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Futile

The firing range was always where Grant felt calmest.

... Unless, of course, John was standing just behind him. Grant could feel those eyes on his back, watching, evaluating, judging. It sent a tiny shiver down Grant’s spine, though maybe not the sort most would assume. John had given him a new gun to try, a damn strong one that made aiming a bit more difficult, though if Grant was honest, he wasn’t sure if it was the gun or the light, warm breath he could imagine on the back of his neck.

“It has a stronger kick than the one you’re used to,” John spoke up after Grant unloaded a clip. Suddenly the breath on Grant’s neck was very real, and strong arms were curling around him while Grant loaded a second clip. “Here. Try changing your stance.”

Grant swallowed hard as hands tugged at his hips, positioning Grant into a stance he was very sure wasn’t in any handbook he’d ever read. “Garrett...”

“What’s the matter?” The feigned innocence went right to Grant’s groin. “Go ahead. Pull the trigger.”

He did as he was told, and magically, this time the bullets stayed on target. “Better.”

“Perfect,” John corrected. His lips brushed along Grant’s ear. “I think you just needed some motivation.”

“Not now,” Grant replied, his voice shaking when John pressed closer and purred. He whined as one of the hands on his hips shifted, cool fingers brushing against the bare skin of Grant’s waist; his already weak resolve was cracking. “People could see.”

“We’re alone.”

Grant hesitated, then relaxed back against John, eyes fluttering shut as John’s hand slipped under the front of his jeans. As if he could resist, either way.


End file.
